


Promises and Broken things

by Anathematize



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Back to the beginning, Chara Has Issues, Frenemies, Frisk - Freeform, Gen, Post-Undertale Genocide Route, Sans Has Issues, Then a little better, Things Get Worse, Time Travel, Uneasy partnership, bad times all around, dark humour, everybody has issues, grey morality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-03-03 08:23:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13337235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anathematize/pseuds/Anathematize
Summary: The anomaly is dead, and an uneasy partnership is formed between a skeleton and a ghost child.(They get along like a house on fire.)





	1. ... You won't come back

**Author's Note:**

> "... all our yesterdays have lighted fools  
> The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!  
> Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player  
> That struts and frets his hour upon the stage  
> And then is heard no more."
> 
> \- William Shakespeare, Macbeth

Strange how a body so small could hold so much hate. Sans eyes the thing across from him with lidded sockets, focusing on their right hand, the one holding the knife. It is trembling. He lets the silence draw out and stretch like a taut rubber band, and is half-startled when the knife clatters noisily to the ground.

The spell breaks. The thing before him transforms into a child. All their easy confidence fades from their limbs, and they slouch slightly, mirroring his posture. They look lost, and heartbreakingly young. (The thought disheartens him.)

'‘you're sparing me?’ 'Sans closes his eyes and reopens then, in time to catch their barely-there nod. ‘finally.’ He sighs. ‘buddy… pal. i know how hard it must be... to make that choice. to go back on everything you've worked up to.’ Sans softens his grin, so it looks less like a grimace. ’ i want you to know... i won't let it go to waste.’ He holds his arms out. ‘c’mere, pal.’

They hesitate. Then they lift their head, brushing dusty bangs out of their eyes, and steps forwards.

He makes it quick. That’s more than they deserve. ‘get dunked on!’ he hollers, pointing finger guns at their body. The moment of triumph fades. Sans looks away, leaning his skull into his hand. His slippers are wet.

He waits. The passage of time is marked by a steady drip-drip, where the body is, making a mess on the floor. Sans slumps against a pillar, watching dust motes dance in the light streaming from the windows. ‘c’mon kid,’ he murmurs. ‘any minute now?’

Ten minutes pass. It feels like an eternity. Sans kicks off his slippers, now dry and uncomfortably stiff.The corpse keeps its silence.

Twenty minutes is a long time to think about the long list of failures you’ve accumulated in life. Sans paces, bare feet clacking out an agitated beat on the floor tiles. When it becomes clear that they won’t return, he pauses in front of the body. His eyes are hollow. ‘huh,’ he says absently, ‘guess you really meant it this time.’ Then he stretches out a skeletal hand and traps the soul hovering above their body in blue. Sans starts walking towards the throne room, soul trailing behind him. Something giggles behind him, high and child-like.

He stiffens. Sans whirls around, and sends a barrage of bones in their direction. He stumbles, suddenly dizzy. The scent of flowers is overpowering. Golden flowers? an idle part of him wonders. On second thought: no, buttercups.

‘Don't you know how to greet an old friend?’ says a voice, part-dry, part-amused. He scans the room. There are no stats, no tell-tale thrum of magic or souls. The shadows condense themselves into the outline of a child.

'you.'

'Me,' they say affably. They tilt their head. 'Surprised?'

'not really. you're, uh, quite the _chara_ -cter.' He winks, long and slow. 'let's _cut_ to the chase.' Sans gestures at the body, curled and small. ‘’kiddo's gone. you're still here. what are you, a leech?’

They bare their teeth in a snarl. ‘Not voluntarily.’ Their form is more solid now- wine red eyes peering up through dark hair. Their hands are swallowed up by the sleeves of their oversized sweater. ‘And believe me, Sans, I’ve tried.’

‘k.’

‘You have to believe me!’ they say, voice hysteric. They dig their hands in their hair, gripping their head. ‘I can’t do anything right. I can’t die properly. Sans, don’t you understand?’ They laugh. ‘I keep on coming back, and back, and they won’t let me!’

‘not my problem.’ Sans shoves his hands in his pockets and starts walking. They linger at the edges of his vision. He clenches his teeth.

‘I told them to stop. I begged like a dog, do you understand? They killed mom. They killed your brother. And they did it again, and again. I only finished the job.' Chara's features drip like molten wax. 'I just wanted to show them that their actions had consequences!' Sans continues walking. ‘Stop ignoring me!’ they cry, and materialize in front of him, blocking the way with their arms. Sans walks through them, and they grimace, reforming in front of him. ‘Stop blaming me and listen!’

He stops and looks at them with dark sockets, waiting.

They tremble, and lower their head. Hair shrouds their eyes. ‘There is nothing left for us here,’ they say. They think they see a flash of emotion shutter over his face. ’I know what you desire, and I know how to make it a reality. You know mine. Let us put aside our differences, and work together as partners.’ They outstretch a hand. Sans stares. ‘That’s your cue to take my hand,’ they say desperately.

‘fine,' he says. He doesn’t shake it. ‘but if i find that you’re lying to me…’

Chara rolls their eyes and retracts their hand. 'I'd be in for a bad time.' they finish. 'Besides... I’m stuck with you.’

The skeleton laughs like it's the funniest joke in the world, and doesn't stop. They laugh too.

 

When the guilt-ridden king opens the door to the judgement hall, he finds nothing but blood and dust and bone.

 

....)xxxxx[;;;;;;;;;> ....

 

Here's a joke:

A murderer and a skeleton walk into a deserted bar.

'Knife to meet you,' says one to another. There is a glass in front of them, filled with melted snow. It is half-empty.

'I'd greet you the same way,' says the other, 'but we're both dead inside.'

 

 


	2. Time will tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past resurfaces. Sans and Chara head to the True Lab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't feel that satisfied with this chapter, but if I kept on editing it, it'd've languished on my hard drive forever. So here ya go!

Determination is the key, he thinks. His footsteps echo hollowly down the halls of the True Laboratory. (It’s oddly nostalgic.) The candy-red soul is still tethered to him by a thread of magic,  bobbing sedately as he presses onwards. It pulses like a human heart, raw and visceral.

They pass by dusty screens, vintage-green LED’s brightening as they walk by. The air smells of must and buttercups and old ramen noodles.

The kid’s not doing so well. Sans peers at them for a moment, taking note of their hunched posture, their bangs hiding any trace of expression. Sans emotion, like a door without an answerer in the bitter cold. Observing the murderer doesn’t provide any information either. His smile grows more strained. welp, he thinks. the hard way it is. (Knock knock.)

’that expression,’ he says, widening his grin, ‘looks like the face of someone who is sorely regretting their life choices.’ He watches for a reaction. wait for it-  The kid twitches, the knuckles of their hands whitening as small fingers curl into fists. 'amirite’? Sans winks, slow and easy-going. They step into another corridor, tracing through a familiar path. An indescribable expression shutters over their face. The mask has cracked. 

They are shaking a little. Rage, or fear? He’s not sure. ’Aren’t you,’ they say hoarsely, ‘the expert in regrets here?’ A flash of white teeth, bared in a mockery of a smile. ’You’re a hypocrite, Sans.’ They pass a hand over their face, brushing the bangs from their glinting maroon-brown eyes, and angle their head towards him, questioningly. He turns away. A sodden scrap of fabric burns a hole in his pocket. 

He steps into the next room. His breath hitches. Even after all this time, the D.T. extractor is impressive. Metal tubing twines into ram’s horns, and Sans can almost imagine the maw of the machine flickering with white-blue light. The kid stiffens. ‘scared?’ he asks, lightly. They offer no response. ‘giving me the cold shoulder here? sheesh, kiddo. i thought we had a thing going on.’ Sans shrugs, a fluid motion. ‘no turning back now.’ 

He scuffles behind the machine, fiddling with some switches. It’s mindlessly calming. Sans whistles a discordant tune as he works, and the sound bounces off the walls of the room. The kid winces. good. He takes his time. 

‘Hurry up!’ hisses the little brat.

Sans slows down. Their gaze bores a hole into his back. ‘what?’

‘You’re doing this on purpose. Just hurry up already!’

He makes a show of checking his bare wrist. ‘why rush, when we have all the time in the world?’

‘Just. Finish. It.’ they grind out.  

Sans raises his hands placatingly. ‘yeesh,’ he mutters, and guides the red soul into its place in the D.T. machine. The air is charged with ozone. Before he can flick on the final switch, the kid hurries towards the extractor, pressing a hand against the glass encasing the soul.  ‘I just want to say good bye,’ they mutter, as if the words are being squeezed out of them. Sans waits. Their back is towards him, and their shoulders drawn together. They say something that Sans can’t quite catch, and the soul pulses in response. The kid bows their head.

‘kid?’ he asks.

‘I’m finished,’ they say, and float back to him. The child mirrors his smile, plastic and brittle. They wave a hand at the glass case surrounding the soul. ‘Do it.’

He turns on the D.T. machine. A wave of sound washes over him, and the room becomes blindingly bright, smelling inexplicably of burnt almonds. Sans shields his eyes. It ends abruptly, almost anticlimactic. He blinks away spots. 

A glassy soul rests in the glass case, drained of color. It shudders once, then crumbles into nothingness. He reaches in the machine near the base, and opens a slot, pulling out a vial. It is filled with a viscous red liquid. 

The kid’s staring at him, all creepy-like. Sans swallows his discomfort, and pockets the vial. ‘ready?’ he asks. He doesn’t wait for a response, and calls upon his magic. 

The world stutters. For a second, there is nothing but the dark, bitter cold. He steps out, into the room.

The room looks only slightly neater than his bedroom. Tiled floor, dusty shelves, and an enormous, cloth covered thing in the corner of the darkened room. There it is. His machine- the fruit of wasted, sleepless nights. A failure.  He pads towards the covered object, sweeping off the cloth with a spark of magic. It flutters to the ground. Sans pulls out the vial from his jacket pocket, and opens a compartment. He pops off the cork off the vial with his teeth, spitting it out to the side, and starts pouring. The fluid oozes like syrup. When it is empty, Sans tosses the vial over his shoulder. It shatters in a spray of red-coated shards. 

‘here goes nothin’,’ he mutters, and pulls on a handle to the side of the machine. A door opens. Sans climbs inside, shutting the door behind him. It clangs shut. Sans reaches for the switch on the control panel to his left, and pauses. ‘any last words?’ he asks, eye sockets dark. ‘i mean, i’m 50% sure this thing works.’ Sans waves a hand to indicate the interior of the machine. The brat stares at him through their bangs, somber. Or sullen. He can’t tell. ’whaddya say,’ he says, grinning, ‘i like to live on the edge.’ 

Sans waits. When they offer no response, he flips the switch. 

There is a quiet pop of displaced air, and both machine and its occupants blink out of existence, as they had never existed at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Critiques welcome. :D

**Author's Note:**

> I'm open to critique! Tell me what you liked, or didn't like. I want to improve my writing.


End file.
